Fragments
by Evil Cosmic Triplets
Summary: It isn't an easy decision that he's about to make, but, ever since he'd taken on the role of captain, none of Jim's decisions have been easy. He's lucky to have Spock by his side. (slash - established relationship)


**Disclaimer: **I do not own the characters of this work of fiction, and no profit, monetary or otherwise, is being made through the writing of this.

_Star Trek: Into Darkness_. Dir. J.J. Abrams. Perf. Chris Pine, Zachary Quinto. Paramount Pictures, 2013. Film.

**A/N**: Written for the hc_bingo prompt - planet destruction.

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The stars are beautiful. In space. But, as Jim surveys the multitude of stars – bright pinpricks in the fabric of the universe – he thinks that, no, space is not the final frontier.

The final frontier is, and would always be, man – his mind, his heart, his will. It is a frontier that Jim is currently teetering on the very precipice of as he looks to his second in command – Spock.

It isn't an easy decision that he's about to make, but, ever since he'd taken on the role of captain, none of Jim's decisions have been easy. Not by a long shot.

Having Spock there, with him, helping him make that universe-altering decision doesn't make it any easier, or more palatable. There is little that could make such a decision easier. And, by rights it shouldn't be an easy decision to make.

The only thing that having Spock there, with him, does is make Jim swallow, hard. He shares a brief look with Spock, catching the minute nod, the slight flare of nostrils that Jim doubts anyone else has seen – an inarticulate, and atypical display of emotion that only Jim is privy to.

They'll talk about it, later, when it's just the two of them, and Jim can let down his guard, and Spock can let loose the more human half of himself. But for now, both of them must be calm, controlled, even calculated in the look they share with the rest of the crew.

In showing no mercy in what they are about to do, they must show an outward lack of emotion – not easy for either of them, but a necessity, because a show of emotion, no matter how fitting, will be mistaken as a sign of weakness. They cannot afford to be seen as weak. Not now. Not in front of prying eyes.

Jim knows Spock well enough, though, that he can read the half-Vulcan's pain and misgiving in the way that Spock's raised eyebrow twitches. Jim knows that, likewise, Spock can easily read the emotional toll that this is taking on him in the way that his shoulders stiffen, and his lip curls; tells that Spock has warned him that he possesses.

Spock's nostrils flare, but he gives no other outward appearance that he's got a problem with what they are about to do. What Jim's about to do. It is his call, after all, and, though it's nice to have Spock, and his crew, backing him up on this, in the end, it's his decision. The onus of what he's about to do will rest on his shoulders alone.

With a slight nod from Spock, Jim closes his eyes, ever so briefly, and then he opens them, squares his jaw and his shoulders. Holding his breath, he toggles the trigger, and then with a simple press of the tip of his index finger, he lets loose a series of shots that look like laser beams from one of those science fiction movies.

When the planet explodes, there is no big ball of fire. Not in space where there's a distinct lack of oxygen to fuel a fire.

The stars don't move, though Jim's heart does – feels like it implodes in his chest along with the planet that he's just destroyed. Though he didn't really have a choice – the planet was on a collision course, and its destruction was inevitable.

The inhabitants had been evacuated, relocated to another planet, and were, even now, forging new lives. Still, Jim couldn't get some of the haunted looks in their eyes out of his mind as they'd been forced from their homes. Some of them had refused to leave, had been destroyed, along with their planet, when Jim had pulled that trigger. He'd carry their deaths to the grave.

He swallows against the pain, the sorrow, the bitterness and hatred of one man – Khan – that made this act a necessity. He can feel Spock's eyes on him, boring holes into the side of his head. Knows that there isn't a trace of sorrow or pity in Spock's dark eyes, least not that anyone not well-versed in understanding the half-Vulcan can see. If Jim was looking at his friend now, though, he'd be rocked to the core at the amount of raw emotion roiling in them.

The planet – a mass of blue, dark browns, and purples so dark that they almost look black – folds in on itself, like it's nothing more than a balled up piece of fabric being sucked into a vacuum cleaner. As Jim watches, he feels the weight of a hand on his shoulder, doesn't have to turn his head to know that it's Spock's.

He lifts his hand, placing it on top of Spock's, relishes the warmth, the physical pain, when Spock's fingers dig into his shoulder, fixing him in the here and now. This isn't the first time that Jim has had to destroy something, and he knows that it won't be the last time that the Enterprise's quest – _to explore strange new worlds, to seek out new life and new civilizations, to boldly go where no man has gone before _– has brought about some kind of tragedy at his command.

"You did the only logical thing, given the circumstances," Spock's words are an unnecessary, but welcome distraction as they break the uncomfortable silence that has fallen over the bridge.

Unable to speak, his eyes locked on the few remnants of the ruined planet – debris that look like floating stars which will eventually rain down on one of its luckier, sister planets – Jim nods, and takes comfort in the fact that Spock's hand is still there, on his shoulder, anchoring him. For now, while the crew bustles about, carrying on quiet conversations around the two of them, it will do.

"Punch it," Jim says, and though his voice is barely that of a whisper, the Enterprise enters warp speed, leaving bits and pieces of his shattered soul behind.

Later, when it's time for sleep, and they're back in Jim's quarters – Jim will wrap himself up in Spock, drawing comfort, sanity, and absolution from the more human side of the man that he's come to love. Reuniting the odds and ends of his splintered soul as they reacquaint themselves with each other – body, spirit, and mind. It's more than just fucking or making love. It's becoming one, becoming whole again.

Until then, though, he's got to remain sturdy and steadfast as he sits in the captain's chair, and they leave fragments of a planet that Jim obliterated floating in their wake.

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